


come see my broken pleasure (come take away the cold)

by scriptureofashes



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, De-Aged Deadpool, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, M/M, Peter is still in high school, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Deadpool (2016), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Sexual Content, Tom Holland is my Spidey, Young!Wade Wilson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 11:30:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18248948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scriptureofashes/pseuds/scriptureofashes
Summary: The first time it happened, Peter barely thought about it.





	come see my broken pleasure (come take away the cold)

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't even gonna write this but then fucking Article 13 got approved so I thought I might as well finally do this after thinking about it for 6 months and go out with a bang (pun very much intended)
> 
> That said, ayo. Thread lightly. This is whole fic is smut and about smut.
> 
> edit: this is pretty much fluff and a little angst. Flangst if you will. And hahaha I have no idea what my posting schedule will be like, buuuuut. I'll try my best! I'm aiming to finish it before Far From Home is released.
> 
> I'm really invested in this particular fic, mostly because this plotline has been nibbling at the back of my head for like, forever. I hope you find it as interesting a read I thought it could be??

The first time it happened, Peter barely thought about it.

New York was cold and damp when he slipped out of his room. He would have left sooner, what with all the free time that had come with spring break, but he’d been using up all of that free time so much he barely even saw his friends. Or his aunt, who’d noticed and made him help her clean the apartment and Skype with Ned before he’d start thinking Peter was dead or something.

(It happened before.)

Peter loved his aunt to bits, he did, and his hour-long conversation with Ned had been pretty refreshing, but she had the _worst timing in the world_.

The April weather clung to his skin as he swung his way through Manhattan and Peter was glad for the suit that did the same. In winter, his Spider-Man suit was absolute _torture_ , thin and tight and terrible for warmth. But the heater installed by Tony had limited uses and a coat or scarf hindered his movements when he fought, so he forewent either for the sake of liberty.

And the aesthetic, MJ insisted.

It _was_ sort of ruined by the backpack he usually strapped to himself, but he couldn’t very well swing around the city and keep his bag of Mexican food intact at the same time. The forecast had said clear skies, not cloudy with a chance of tacos. His phone vibrated in his pack just as he crossed the bridge to the Upper East Side, near imperceptible under the sound of traffic, and Peter muttered, “I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m _coming_ …”

Boy, he could almost _see_ Deadpool’s leer.

It was another frantic fifteen minutes before he reached his destination. His heart was already beating a mile a minute from how fast he was moving, but Peter still felt a little skippity-skip in there when he spotted red leather.

Mid-swing, he saw Deadpool raise his arms from his cross-legged position on the ledge of the roof.

“Baby boy, you’re late!”

Peter landed on the other end of the ledge and hopped down when Wade did.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so _sorry_ ,” He could barely talk through his heavy breathing, “I came here as fast as I could, but May insisted today was quality aunt-nephew time and Ned decided it was also quality bro-time and Tony—”

“Slow down there, Peter Piper. I figured. Either that or you got stuck on a tree trying to rescue a cat, y’know?”

Peter snorted. “No, but I did get stuck at home doing spring cleaning.”

“Spiders _gotta_ clean their webs, baby boy, so that they don’t turn into _cob_ webs.”

“Uh-huh. She also got Mexican for dinner and I thought—oh.”

It took Peter that long to notice the red and white checkered blanket laid out behind Wade and the picnic basket settled neatly on top. Peter smelled the sandwiches inside before he could even ask, his stomach growling. He hadn’t eaten his dinner so that he could share it with Wade, but like always, he was one step ahead of him.

“You thought right.” Wade took his backpack from his hands. “Trade ya!”

He skipped to the blanket and Peter followed. Before Wade could sit down, though, Peter tugged at his belt to turn him and get his arms around him, not the least bit sorry that he was coming off clingy.

“I missed you,” he whispered into his chest.

He felt Wade’s arms close around him. It was amazing how they both just _melted_ into each other, a deep sigh escaping him as he got his fix of Wade’s scent.

“Missed you too, Petey. Spent the day lookin’ at the sky, hoping to see an angel in red and blue spandex.”

Peter grinned and tightened his arms. “Oh really? I spent mine _dreading_ I’d see the Devil. I just can’t resist his revolting charm and red leather.”

“The Devil wears Prada, Petey. Everybody knows that.”

“Does that mean Meryl Streep is the Devil?”

“Nobody’s that good an actress! She’s gotta have struck a _deal_ with him, at least.”

Peter did trade his tacos for Wade’s homemade club sandwiches, a little guilty that they were cold. Wade didn’t seem to mind at all, wolfing them down like they were ambrosia. Peter, for his own part, took his time rolling up his mask and removing the tin foil from his sandwich. But then his tongue made contact with meat and mayo—and that _something_ Wade always put in that made his food wonderful—and Peter let out an honest-to-god moan. It was such a simple thing, just sandwiches. Such a simple, delicious thing, how did Wade make them so _great_?

Peter realized he was being stared at. He also realized, judging by the look on Wade’s face, that he’d been making _noises_.

“So,” Wade started, fishing a soda can out of the basket and tossing it at Peter. “How’s your aunt?”

“She’s…all right. Finally recovering from what happened.” Peter saw Wade’s mouth tighten out the corner of his eye. “Still twice as mad that I’m still Spider-Man. She fully expected me to drop out after the whole Thanos thing. Tony certainly wanted me to.”

Wade hadn’t, fortunately. He’d understood what Spider-Man meant to Peter and didn’t try to stop or change him in any way, unlike Gwen or MJ. Ned and Harry let him be, too, but Peter knew it was because the concept of having a friend in the superhero business was the ultimate vicarious life, even if they did worry sometimes.

And so did Wade, especially after the Snap. Or “The Snappening”, as he’d dubbed it.

“What’d you tell the Can Man?”

“That he could can it.” Wade snorted through a mouthful of beer. “We’re superheroes. Hopping on an alien spaceship and turning to ash on another planet? Occupational hazard. He’s been through weird crap too, they all have. _You_ have.”

The words came out tasting like that ash. It was all bullshit. Coming back from it hadn’t been great, no. And becoming it had been the most terrifying experience of Peter’s life. He used to dream about sand, fire and metal wings. Now… ash, ash, _ash_ , all around him, on him, in him, coming out of him. On Tony, on his hair and on his nanosuit. In the air, glimmering under bright orange skies.

The coke tasted like it, too, when he swallowed it.

“Yeah, you walk through that shit. At some point. But it’s…when it becomes a thing, you know? Oh, did I get thrown into a giant shredder and turn into wurst? Typical Monday.”

Peter winced. “Your typical is not my typical.”

“Exactly my point, pumpkin,” Wade said. The nickname made Peter’s lips twitch. “You’re sort of new at this. All the other kids with the pumped-up kicks have been through their weird crap kickstarter. Cap slept in ice for seventy years, Stark got a chest full of pointy confetti… Think it was easy for me when I phoenixed?”

Peter stopped mid swig. He hadn’t thought… Both he and Wade—

“I woke up from my literal ashes, too. Granted, that wasn’t too long ago, now that I think about it. And let me tell you, my first thought wasn’t ‘let’s find a deli, dying makes me hungry’. It was more along the lines of ‘what the fucking _fuck_ ’, because I’d just _died_ , and everything around me was dead and on fire, and then it was ‘look, I _did_ go to hell.’”

Peter couldn’t help it—he reached for Wade’s hand and squeezed it.

“In a way, I did. ‘Cept it wasn’t the hell I thought it was. It was life. I _died_ , then, just like that, I lived again.”

He squeezed back, then threaded their fingers together. “And then I thought ‘what the fucking fuck’ again. That was my kickstarter, Petey, and it wasn’t a walk in the park. It was a walk in fire, debris and innocent people’s corpses.”

Wade brought Peter’s hand up to his lips. They were warm and Peter wished he could feel them through the suit material.

“You just had your weird crap kickstarter, Webs. You’re allowed to take your time walking it off.”

God, he read Peter like a book. This is what he meant, when he said Wade understood. It was this, moments like this, he thought about when people questioned _them_. What he’d thought when Tony found out and Peter had screamed and shouted his defense in front of the entirety of the Avengers. He was sure his and Tony’s voice had been heard all the way to the gardens around the compound.

Peter swallowed, and despite the wetness in his eyes, a smile pulled at his lips when he scooted closer.

“Hey, why are we celebrating after just a month, anyway? I mean, I get six-month anniversaries, but one month?”

“ _You’re_ celebrating our one month. _I’m_ celebrating eighteen months and twenty-three days of life with the sweetest ass I’ve ever had the honor to lay my eyes on.”

Peter choked. Wade was grinning as gulped down some coke to clear his airway.

“You’re blushing, aren’t you?”

“Shut _up_.”

Peter thanked the darkness around them as he drank, because of _course_ he was blushing. Eighteen months and twenty-three days of Deadpool and all kinds of inappropriate and he _still_ reacted to his passes.

…Or he’d just come full circle, he thought, amused, staring at the exact spot on the roof where he and Wade had first met.

Their first contact had come in the form of a manila folder. It had been handed to Peter by a very conflicted Tony, who’d looked like he wanted Peter to read it more than anything and _not_ to read it even more.

“Right, kid. I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but somehow, you’ve made it to the big leagues.”

The folder had a bright red SHIELD stamp under the word ‘classified’.

“As part of the big leagues, it’s my duty, both as your mentor and your teammate, to fill you in on your new ‘do’s’ and ‘don’ts’.” He’d tapped on the folder. “That, right there? Is a cold hard ‘ _don’t’_.”

The page had been filled with basic information about him—name, age, origins. There was a candid shot of a red and black figure on the corner, under a paper clip. When Peter made eye contact with the white in his eyes, it had triggered a little _something_ in his spidey-sense.

The name had caught him: Deadpool.

“Under no circumstances will you go near this guy. You hear his name walking down the street? You run the other way. You hear reports of a lunatic in a red suit near Queens? You web your ass to the compound and _stay_ _there_ until I tell you to leave. You catch a glimpse of this guy patrolling, you call me _immediately_.”

It was argue what Peter had done immediately. He’d not so gently reminded Tony that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and he’d be the judge of what his ‘do’s’ and ‘don’ts’ were. But his tantrum had been _loud_ in the lab, hot knives to Tony’s butter of a low voice. He hadn’t even screamed or pulled the adult card, like he sometimes did when Peter ended up being right—and smug—about something. No, Tony had looked _serious_.

“Dangerous doesn’t even come close to describing this guy, trust me.” He’d also sounded worried. “Just…leave this one to us and don’t do anything stupid. Is that clear?”

And that had been the head it came to. The edges of the file in his hands had gone bent when he nodded.

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

He met Deadpool two nights later.

“Whatcha thinkin’ there, Petey?”

Peter looked back at Wade. He was chewing the last of his food, head tilted. One of the clouds must have moved in the sky, because the moon suddenly glowed right above them, outlining his scarred jaw and lips.

A jolt of heat ran through Peter.

“Take off your mask.”

Wade stopped chewing immediately. Peter set his half-eaten sandwich down and reached up, tugging at his own mask. The fresh air made him sigh, almost in tune with Wade when he saw it come off. Peter heard a whisper from a month ago (“You’re so _gorgeous_ …”) and smiled, wide and shy.

He crawled closer to Wade, who was still frozen on the spot, like he was afraid he’d move or he’d shatter reality. Peter settled on one of his thighs. “Take off your mask?”

It came out as more of a question this time. Wade swallowed his food, hands squeezing Peter’s hips. Tiny shivers crept up at the touch and Peter had to try not to lean too much into it. He was aware of the magnitude behind his request. He _had_ seen Wade’s face before on occasion—post-patrol snacking and whatnot—and he didn’t care about the scars. He didn’t before and he never will. But Wade was firm on his mask-on policy, no matter how many times Peter had tried to get his point across.

_When insecurity takes root…_

He helped pull the mask off, cupping the side of Wade’s face. The moonlight made the scars glow silver, such a pretty match to his pretty blue eyes, very wide and unsure. Peter let his smile grow. There was that whisper again, “ _gorgeous_ …” and the memory of Wade’s voice overlapped with his.

“Hey there, handsome.” He swung over his left leg. “I missed you.”

Wade smiled back, a little awkward and a little smitten. It was a real smile, not one of his taunting smirks or too-wide grins, one that strained at his eyes and showed a bit of teeth. Peter wanted to kiss it, so he did.

It was brief, just a peck to the lips, a kind of test to the waters.

He was still _new_ at this.

“God, you’re adorable,” Wade snorted.

Peter felt his blush spread. And it showed, apparently. With a glare, he shifted so that he was firmly on Wade’s lap, thigh to thigh. Groin to groin. His hands trembled slightly as he ran them through short blonde hair, gently tugging and tilting for Peter’s attempt at a better kiss.

Wade tasted like Mexican food and cheap beer. Peter couldn’t taste any better, but the zing of pleasure that shot through him when their tongues met spoke a different language. It felt like tiny sparks in his mouth, like electricity was running through his veins, through his body, to accumulate in his groin. He gasped.

This wasn’t the first time they kissed. No, that had happened on this same roof, on the night of Identity Reveals™ and Heartfelt Confessions™. But that… that had been a _simple_ kiss. Followed by hand holding and kicking ass _while_ holding hands. Tricky. And they’d kissed again, again and again, on patrol and on dates, which were usually the same thing. Kisses that said ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’ or ‘I missed you’. Kisses on the cheek, too, and on the forehead. Peter was seeing Wade once every week at best, now that he was on call for SHIELD. It was what they’d had time for.

It had never been like this, as shocking as it sounded, considering who it was Peter was talking about here.

This… oh, this was _different_.

Peter gasped again and Wade took immediate advantage. He licked, nipped and sucked, driving Peter crazy with just his mouth. _As per usual._ Peter gave as good as he got, licking, nipping, sucking. Panting, gasping, moaning. It was _embarrassing_ , but he couldn’t help it. He’d never done this before. It felt good, so _good_ , he was actually losing control of himself.

All those jokes Deadpool made about taking his breath away? They were _promises_ , and Wade was a clear man of his word.

But he looked breathless too, like Peter was driving him just as crazy. His hands held his hips in a death grip—there were going to be bruises there—and he was making these _sounds_ , rough and raw. He sounded so vulnerable and desperate. Desperate for _Peter_.

“Petey…” Wade moaned.

Peter’s cock twitched in his suit. He was hard. He kind of had been since he climbed onto Wade. He moaned back, shifting so that he could feel—

Wade was hard, too. Peter clutched at his shoulders and gave an experimental roll of his hips. There was that electricity again, except now it was _hotter_ , all-consuming, and Peter’s hips gave into instinct, gained a mind of their own. Peter panted as he ground himself against Wade, quick and hard and _loud_ , the spandex catching on his cock and oh, oh, this felt—

“Fuck—fuck, Petey, wait—”

Peter grunted and slammed his mouth to Wade’s, actually clacking their teeth together. Saliva ran down the corner of his mouth. He moved faster, biting down, making _noises_ , fuck, he was so _loud_ —

The world actually spun for a moment, then gone were the heat and pleasure. Peter’s super reflexes might as well have been asleep, because he fell hard on his ass from how quickly he was sent sprawling to the ground. It was _cold_ without Wade’s body up against his. Bruised and confused, he looked up, only to see Wade pacing back and forth on the roof, on the phone. He looked a little peeved, and Peter felt even colder.

_Did I do something wrong?_

Had Wade not liked it? Had he been too eager? Too harsh? Too fast? Wade had been hard and even ground back against him at some point. He’d sounded like he was enjoying himself, too…  Peter bit his lip, head swirling with questions and actual shame rolling down his body. He propped his knees up and closed, hiding away his still throbbing erection, then his arms and his burning face. The front of his suit felt wet, probably from all the pre-come.

“You have got to be kid—no. Seriously? You got a lot of fuckin’ nerve sending me back there, you douche nozz—oh, it’s like that is it? It’s—oh. Oh, my Barbara Streisand. Yeah, I’m fuckin’ listenin’ now—"

By the time Wade was done with his phone call, Peter’s breath was back to normal and his cock was at half-mast. But he didn’t lift his head up.

“Baby boy?” A hand touched one of his crossed forearms, then ran itself through his hair. “Baby boy, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

Peter frowned. He ventured his head up and there was Wade, kneeling and concerned. Not angry at all.

“I’m sorry, I had to take that. Coulson’s been grindin’ my ass and not in the fun way.”

And the expression was back. Oh. Wade was peeved at Coulson, not him.

_Still…_

“I… I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?”

Wade’s eyebrows shot up, back down in a frown, then went slack as the light bulb went off. He shook his head, corner of his mouth up in a half-smile that was all fondness. A rush of warmth ran back into Peter.

“No! No, no.” He thumbed Peter’s chin, tilting it up. Then it was his hand on his cheek, and Peter leaned into it. “You did absolutely _nothing_ wrong, sweet-pea. Shit, I just…” Wade actually swallowed before he sighed, very petulantly. “Hey, I gotta run. Coulson’s calling me in for a mission that’s an actual big baller.”

Peter deflated. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“When will you be back?”

“Next week, maybe? Though last time Coulson said ‘simple week-long job’ I ended up lost and legless in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, a.k.a Louisiana.”

Peter had tagged along as Spider-Man when Clint volunteered to pick him up. And had spent the following twenty-four hours on stake-out while he waited for Wade to regain his legs and consciousness.

“Fun night.”

Wade’s grin turned soft. He was staring at Peter so intently, like he was memorizing every nook and cranny that made up his face. Peter surged up for the kiss that followed. It was long but chaste, and he indulged himself just a little bit, already missing these lips. His legs fell open just as Wade’s hand brushed against his knee—just as Wade broke the kiss and got up. Peter let out a soft sound and blinked a little too much, world spinning once more, veins back to charged.

 _Fuck._ He took a deep, calming breath.

Wade’s mask was back on and the basket and blanket were mysteriously gone. He was holding Peter’s open backpack on one hand and a plastic bag with the rest of the sandwiches on the other, which got shoved in the former. It was a habit he’d picked up—whenever they ate together and got actual leftovers, Wade would always give them to Peter. Always. Peter must’ve had the goofiest smile on his face when Wade gave him back his pack.

“I’ll text you before and after the mission.”

“Need a swing?”

Deadpool stared at him for a long time, white eyes slightly scrunched in a familiar yet only vague leer. It took Peter a moment to notice that his legs had fallen into a butterfly stretch, and under the still looming moonlight he was—

He shoved his backpack down his exposed front and scrambled for his mask.

“Nah, Sergeant Popsicle is giving me a lift.” Deadpool hopped to the ledge, grappling hook already in hand. When he turned to him, Peter could see the clear wide smile under his mask by the way his eyes crinkled. “I love you!”

Warmth bloomed in Peter’s chest. “Love you, too!”

Then he was gone, leaving Peter cross-legged and a little wistful on their roof.

**Author's Note:**

> oh boy


End file.
